Cavell Road

I have a new crush. Her name is Edith. She lives far away, but she stands out. She’s quiet, but elegant; curvy yet skinny; smooth, tough, and more than a little dangerous. And she takes my breath away.

Yes, I’ve flipped out over the road up to Mount Edith Cavell in Jasper National Park. (Cavell was a British nurse celebrated for her bravery during World War I; she was executed by the Germans. The peak named after her is one of the most prominent in the Jasper area.) Like the Highwood Pass in Kananaskis, Cavell Road is closed to car traffic until June 15 each year, meaning there’s usually a brief window around this time for cycling it when most of the snow is gone and before the cars return.

Last week Strava Jeff and I made the trek from Edmonton, in separate vehicles, there, up and down, and back in one long, glorious day. It’s one of a handful of magical rides in Alberta. I highly recommend it.

Rough Stuff Fellowship Archive

The Rough Stuff Fellowship, which claims to be the world’s oldest off-road cycling club, was founded in 1955 by Liverpudlian Bill Paul, who organized a gathering of around 40 cyclists interested in off-road adventures, especially those involving difficult ascents. Their aim was simple and glorious: ”exploring how far an ordinary bicycle and a can-do attitude can get you.” (I admit the name “Rough Stuff Fellowship” feels a tad cringy now; out of context it could pass as the name of a creepy Victorian S&M cult. Alas, in the 1950s, I don’t think it had the same double-entendrism.)

Solo Special

I miss riding with my friends. The conversation, the joking, the bullshitting--even riding silently together. I miss it all.

Alas, riding alone is how it’s going to be for a while. (I’m hopeful that the wide-openness of gravel will allow for two-person rides, but not everyone will be comfortable with that.) For the most part, my solo rides have been, well, okay. It’s something just to be out on the bike, moving through warm air again. But it’s not as much fun as riding with other humans.

My ride a few days ago, however, was an exception. I drove out to Strathcona County and explored some territory to the north and west of Elk Island Park. It was a warm, sunny day, not too breezy; the melt was on, with water coursing through the ditches and culverts, small torrents seeking out low ground. And part way through the ride something happened: I experienced some curious shift in how I saw the world from my saddle, and I actually enjoyed--for the first time in a long time--being alone out there.

Sunday 6-Footer

On Sunday, I went for an official 6-foot ride with Strava Jeff on the mostly clear pavement out by Woodbend. We drove out there in separate cars and made a careful point of keeping our distance the whole time. To be honest, other than the separate cars, it wasn’t that different from any other ride.   

Tucson Postcard

So much to love about Tucson, if you’re a cyclist. It’s got terrific cycling infrastructure: wide painted bike lanes on most arterial roads; two very cool residential bikeways that bisect the city north-south and east-west; some separated bike lanes in key parts of the city; and a beautiful paved trail system that loops around the city.

But more important than the infrastructure, Tucson has a cycling culture. Bikes are common as dirt and not just tolerated but appreciated, respected as a legitimate transportation option and a normal part of regular people’s lives. Bikes are embraced and celebrated as part of the culture of the city, part of its identity. I love how this particular E.T. inspired, lizardy-tandem-bicycle sculpture rises above the Rillito bike trail at Campbell Avenue. Most bikes ride below on the trail, but the elevated art work, visible from the avenue, captures the proud and ascendant spirit of Tucson’s cool cycling vibe.

Old Pueblo

The saguaro cactus, that iconic image of the Sonoran desert, doesn’t begin to produce flowers until it is over 70 years old, and it won’t grow its first arm until its 90s. Things bloom late around here.

Cycle Gleanings

The student of nature has in the bicycle a very serviceable friend.

I’ve got a special bookshelf devoted to my favorite oddball classics of cycling literature. It includes copies of F.W Bockett’s Some Literary Landmarks for Pilgrims on Wheels, J.W. Allen’s Wheel Magic, and Charles Brooks’ A Thread of English Road, all works that no-one could call “great” books--they’re too weird and uneven--but that are nonetheless wonderful in some strange way. 

That’s where I’d love to someday put a copy of William S. Beekman’s Cycle Gleanings: or, Wheels and Wheeling for Business and Pleasure and the Study of Nature (1894). I say someday because it’s almost impossible to find extant copies of this book. I got to look at one of the seven existing copies listed in the worldcat via interlibrary loan, but good luck trying to acquire a copy for yourself. It’s rare and expensive (years ago I saw a copy online going for $700), which makes it even more of a gem, if you ask me.

Winter Sunday

High on my list of favorite winter activities is a bike ride on a quiet gravel road on a cold, sunny day. 

Here are a few pics from the loop ride Val and I did west of Leduc on Sunday, starting at old Gnadenthal Lutheran Church, on the corner of RR 261 and TR 494.

What seemed, at first glance, to be a barren and desolate landscape turned out to be full of life. The many dogs of Leduc County were excited to see us; they greeted us enthusiastically. Only one gave us an actual scare, sneaking up on us in full stealth mode, not alerting us to his presence until he was on us. But even he was in too good of a mood to actually go through with anything menacing.

More surprisingly, we encountered no less than three horseback riders clopping down the middle of these country roads. Apparently we aren’t the only ones who enjoy a winter Sunday ride. 

But in the end it’s the sun--weak-ass as it is, barely able to peek over the trees by mid-afternoon--that makes a winter ride more than just pedalling. That muted light hitting the frost in the trees and the snowy fields or the glare off ice patches on the road or a country church spire--that’s the magic of this time of year.

Pit Stops: Lady Embalmer Park

In the heart of what we in Crestwood call “The Church District,” a two-block residential area with five churches (Catholic, United, Apostolic, Seventh-Day Adventist, Christian Reformed), sits a tiny parklet that I call Lady Embalmer Park.

It’s on 148 Street, just south of 99 Avenue, tucked into a large green space. There’s a cairn and two benches. A plaque on a cairn explains that Isabelle Connelly (1879-1963) was a pioneer teacher, community worker, and the first licenced lady embalmer in Alberta. LEP is directly across the street from St. John’s Catholic, which is not surprising, given that, as the plaque informs us, Connelly was awarded an honour by none other than Pope Pius XII (apparently a big fan of embalming, in general, and lady embalmers, in particular).